


a conversation that's not about us

by ferrassie



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-22
Updated: 2011-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-26 10:11:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferrassie/pseuds/ferrassie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikel’s face against his neck. All the others there. Wins. Hands on the nape of Robin’s neck, like he’s not even aware of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a conversation that's not about us

“So, Mikel,” Thomas says, mouth parted just so.

Robin blinks.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

It happens under the rush of the match. Mikel’s face against his neck. All the others there. Wins. Hands on the nape of Robin’s neck, like he’s not even aware of it. It’s nothing. Right now, to Robin.

But to Thomas, up there in the crowd. He doesn’t know what it is to Thomas.

He thinks Mikel is saying something, but he doesn’t catch it over the sound of all these people, their voices.

Thomas’s is one of them.

 

It’s easy to ignore him. Thrum of the showers, hollow wood, and echoes. Thomas has always had a thing for locker-rooms. Their confusion. He says something quiet and low in Dutch, Mikel’s back turned to them. Robin hums over it. Pulling his shirt right side-out, thinking about ankle injuries and timespans.

Thomas raises his eyebrows. Robin does the same.

 

Adrenaline. Robin blames it on adrenaline. He can barely think. Hands all over and the smell of sweat. Hat-trick. Stamford Bridge. Has to amend that: he can’t think at all. Thomas in his ear, his hands sliding up Robin’s chest. Mikel. His mouth at the base of Robin’s throat.

Thomas is already walking away.

He thinks about it.

 

Thomas is quick. He finds Robin in the carpark.

“Call me later,” he says.

It’s not fair. Robin’s still buzzing. Pulsing. Can’t breathe quite yet.

“Okay.”

(Can’t say no.)

Thomas smiles. The match hasn’t wended its way out of him and he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t trust it as much as he does.

 

They’re quiet for a moment. On the telephone. He doesn’t know how this is supposed to work. How he’s supposed to feel about it.

“You want me to be more specific? Would that make it easier?”

It’s not condescending. Thomas wouldn’t be.

Another moment passes.

“Yes.”

 

Robin doesn’t have to ask. He lets himself in. Takes the stairs one at a time, hand on the banister. Both straining to and straining not to hear. That soft hitch of breath. Content. He thinks about that sound a lot.

Too much.

He’s not ready for Thomas’s hands in Mikel’s hair or the look Thomas gives him. The colour of Mikel’s skin.

“Hey.”

He can see Thomas’s fingers tighten when Mikel tries to pull off his cock. Still hasn’t figured out how this is going to work. Who wants what.

Thomas tips his head back. “Come here.”

Robin goes. Thomas runs his fingertips slowly through Mikel’s hair, brushing it back. Robin swallows. Stands at the edge of the bed. Mikel’s hands are splayed out across Thomas’s hips. Where his hands usually go. What his hands usually do.

He crawls up beside Thomas and leans in to kiss him, holding on to something familiar. (He’s trying to say thank you.) He feels Thomas’s hands on him, one notching down his spine. Can’t help the way he gasps, the way something goes weak in his knees when Thomas licks over his bottom lip.

 _You’re welcome_.

When they come apart, breathless, Mikel is right there. He’s smiling at Robin – that permanent half-smile, mouth a little swollen. He tastes bitter and his facial hair is rough against Robin’s skin. Thomas toys with the waistband of his jeans.

He huffs out a laugh when Mikel pulls at the hem of his shirt. Disbelief. Watches him shift back, how his eyes drop down along Robin’s body. Thomas guides him forward. He likes how easily Mikel comes to him. Heat of his hand on Robin’s neck, on his waist.

Thomas makes a choked noise and Robin might (maybe) like that even better.

He lets Mikel unzip his jeans and he lies back against the bed. Thomas warm beside him. Lifts his hips up to help Mikel get his jeans down and off and Thomas’s fingers slip against the hollow of his hip. Just briefly, like he can’t help touching. It makes Robin a little fuzzy around the edges. He stares up at Mikel. Knees on either side of his own. Hands on his hips. Eyes glassy.

“Go ahead,” Thomas says and Mikel nods.

He pulls at Robin’s boxers. End up somewhere over the side of the bed. Mikel folds himself between his legs and his lips brush over the head of Robin’s cock. Thomas has him by the hand. He’s there, shoulder-to-shoulder. Breathing.

Mikel’s mouth is warm and wet. Stretched obscenely around him. He’s looking up the length of Robin’s body and there’s want. Thomas’s fingers trace down his temple, his jaw. Shades of the same skin. They seemed to have worked something out. The hard press of Mikel’s tongue before he pulls off his cock and Robin can’t help the noise of protest he makes.

Thomas kisses him quick. Quiet.

Mikel takes Thomas’s fingers into his mouth, instead, licking between them. Eyes closed. Swear he’s smiling. Tell-tale shine of spit and Mikel wraps his hand around Robin’s cock. Too grateful. Three fingers. He cants his hips up and Thomas’s laugh goes all the way up the line of his back.

“Over Robin, just.” Thomas waits, half-lidded, as Mikel crawls up towards him. “Yeah.”

Mikel’s breath is hot against his skin as he moves closer to Robin. Heavy. He cups Mikel’s neck and pulls him down. Little gasp as Thomas runs the heel of his hand down his spine, over freckled skin. (He noticed.) Mikel pulls away completely, voice a stutter, as Thomas pushes his fingers inside of him.

He knows that feeling. Slow and too controlled. Mikel makes a keening noise and he runs his hand along Mikel’s side. A comfort thing. Thomas is intent over the curve of his shoulder. Little smirk. There’s a fine sheen of sweat across Mikel’s forehead, along his hairline.

“Good?” he asks and Mikel nods. Lip caught in his teeth. He pushes back against Thomas’s fingers, hands braced on either side of Robin’s shoulders. And he’s gasping. Hips grinding down against Robin’s and the friction against his cock makes his toes curl. Hot, dry.

Thomas trails the pads of his fingertips over Robin’s ankle. The tendons in that foot.

Mikel shudders against him. Voice halfway to a whisper. “Please,” ghosting over his collarbones. “Robin, please.” Eyes shining and faraway.

“Yeah, okay,” and he swallows. His hands curl over Mikel’s shoulders before Thomas eases him off and onto his back, pushing his thighs farther apart. Mikel’s just. Thomas pulls Robin to his knees. Mouth on his neck, on his jaw, on his own.

“You ready?” he asks, Dutch thick and sweet. His look is searching. Pinned under that green. Robin nods and looks away. He presses a condom and lube into Robin’s hand as he kisses him. Slick sound of Mikel jerking off. Thomas tips his head. “Go.”

Mikel grins up at Robin as he settles between his parted legs. It’s bright and Robin can’t help smiling back. Thomas somewhere behind him. He can feel it. Watching, but not sharing in it.

He rolls the condom onto his cock and tries not to pay attention to the way Mikel’s licking his lips, grip loose around his cock. He already can’t focus.

Something flashes in Mikel’s eyes as he lines himself up. It’s sharper, more aware. He starts pushing in to Mikel, tight around the head of his cock. One of Mikel’s hands fisted in the sheets. He really is gorgeous and it hits him right then. Skin and blush.

Thomas’s hand slides across his back. Mikel perfect on his cock. All the way in. He likes how responsive Mikel is to him when he cups his thighs and how responsive he is to the lines Thomas is tracing across his chest. His back arches just up off the bed.

“God,” Thomas says and Robin agrees. Tension and pleasure sitting low in his stomach. Fixated on the way Mikel’s mouth looks when he gasps. “You’re doing that to him.”

He stays at Robin’s side. Just touching, just a voice. Mikel takes it easily, pushing back on his cock for more. Eyes barely open. Fingers tight around the base of his cock. Semblance of self-control. He moves his hips faster, hand on Mikel’s stomach, and Mikel’s voice dips, goes a little rougher all over. Same time as Thomas kisses over Robin’s pulse point.

“He looks so good underneath you. Perfect. He’s so perfect.” His nails pull across Robin’s side, cause his thrusts to stutter. It’s just to remind Robin that sometimes he is, too. “He’s wanted you like this since he got here. Just like this. You fucking him.”

Thomas’s hands are possessive on him. Knows how he knows this.

Mikel is fisting his cock, now. Red at the tip. Pre-come. Head thrown back and Robin wants to lean over and kiss his way along Mikel’s jawline. That stretch of bone, but Thomas. He doesn’t want to pull away from Thomas. From the things he’s saying.

“He would do anything for you. Already.” And this _feeling_ flares through Robin. “Suck you, ride you. Whatever. He would.” A breath. “I would.”

The noise Robin makes, he doesn’t even know where it comes from. How he’s still holding on. Between them. Mikel’s talking, too. Accented. “What’s he saying?” Desperate. Tongue wetting his bottom lip. Still swollen, still pink.

Robin can see Thomas’s smirk. Periphery. “Tell him.”

“That you wanted this.” Pushes his hips in that much harder. Broken moan. “You’ve wanted this since. Since the beginning.” Cracking on the last word. A small hint of a smile and Mikel goes tighter around him.

Robin doesn’t have anything else left to say.

Mikel’s entire body is still as he comes over his hand, his stomach. Robin stays with him. So, so close. Can’t look away from Mikel. His face. The splay of his hands on his hips. The pink marks on his thighs. His body curves up towards Robin’s.

He pulls out of Mikel gently, hands playing softly over his thighs. Thomas is behind him, hard against his back. He’s been waiting and he doesn’t waste time. He moves Robin where he wants him; on his back, next to Mikel. He accommodates Thomas’s weight on his hips easily.

Milk-pale. Faded bruises.

Mikel curls up against Robin’s side. Face in the crook of his neck. Hands warm on his ribs, but he can’t look away from Thomas who’s slicking up his fingers. Stretching himself for Robin’s cock. He grins down at him and he would hate Thomas, really, if he weren’t so distracted by the minute way he tenses above him.

He finds a condom somewhere. He rolls it onto Robin with quick fingers. Gives him nothing. Lube just as perfunctory. The sheets are sweat-damp.

Even Mikel’s breath catches as Thomas lowers himself down on to Robin’s hips. His mouth, his body, his everything. His fingers glide over Thomas’s waist, but he’s not the one in control. Would do anything Thomas asked just to hear him say his name (like that) over and over again. Fucking himself slowly, but with so much purpose. He’s not going to last and Thomas knows that.

Mikel kisses his neck. Nips along his collarbone.

“Thomas, God, I…”

Completely undone as he says, “I know.” Hand around his cock. “Just hold on for me.” And Robin will, even if wants to give in. Mikel’s fingertips are clumsy against his jaw and Thomas’s, “Now,” is almost indistinguishable.

Robin still gets it.

Thomas comes over his stomach. Mikel’s fingers shining wet as he traces through it. That last little bit pushes Robin over the edge and his whole body goes taut as he comes. Little movement of Thomas’s hips. Rocking.

He carefully climbs off of Robin’s cock, ties the condom off. Leans in and kisses the rest of the breath out of Robin’s lungs. Fist tight in his hair.

“Mine.”

 

Thomas trails his fingers over the curve of his shoulderblade. Face pressed against the pillow. Robin makes a noise in the back of his throat. Sleep thick in his voice.

“Where is he?”

Thomas shifts closer to him. Touching. “Showered. Left.”

Robin turns to look at him and Thomas is transparent. Sometimes. “And that’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

Thomas kisses his forehead. “You got yours.”

 

He asks, later. “Mine?” Chopsticks sliding over Thomas’s plate.

“Do not,” he says.

Robin doesn’t.


End file.
